Unnamed by Anonymous

What if my words, designed to fly gracefully on the page, jeweled butterflies are instead dark, shiny and black, tiny beetles that slowly chew through the pages, now brittle, crumbling

No rehearsals here, just a long paralysis, no failure as terrible as the imagined

What is perfection?

The unwritten book with gleaming pages,

The pure raw colours unmixed

The world at dawn of time with no people to slice and mix, to dig, to satirize


Voice by Zechariah Lange

I have another guest poet today, Zechariah Lange, has graced us with this lovely poem, Voice. I encourage poets of all ages to send me their poems for the possibility of letting me share them here on my blog. Email lauralascarso(at)yahoo(dot)com  Viva poetry!


Here stands a human being,

Gazing through a glass wall.

Some time now he has stood peering,

Waiting for his turn to take a step.


Searching, craving, yearning,

He stands using different tools,

Tools that were not of his own creation.

Understanding now the purpose of this wall.


Searching now within, the conjuring

Yields a force that is all his own.

Constructed of a love that is

Signed with a personal signature.


In world of universal truths,

He prioritizes these ingredients

With his own sense of worth.

Finally, this wall is a road.

A Poem for Archers by Anonymous

A target pinned and solid-seeming
but mine is all in motion
I draw the bowstring back
and farther back
Were I to let it fly would it sink deep?

But now my muscles shake
fingers torn against the string
velocity all misaimed
I cannot decipher which target is my own

Can I split this arrow with the force of my own wishing,
shower the sky with a quiverful,
live out each peculiar path?

Or must I choose now
release my hold
wide-eyed or blindfolded
poised or hamfisted

Should I lower the bow?

Anonymous, May 2013


Today I’m excited to present a guest poem by Paula Osborn! Paula is a compulsive reader and YA writer who lives in Colorado at the base of the Rocky Mountains. Thank you, Paula, for your poignant expression!




Exhausted, straining to inhale a sliver of breath
I lie buried in the dust of another day
Desperate for the desire to crawl forward
Toward the rushing stream
With its promise of refreshment and desire
To smile one more day
Without trying


Tomorrow will be the last day of poetry month, and the winner of our contest will be announced May 1. Thank you to all those who’ve been keeping up with my poetry posts. I hope to extend this practice in the coming months. And, I welcome your poetry submissions year-round. A verse is the gift that keeps on giving!


Dog Time (in 24 Lines)

This is a lovely submission by my friend and poet, Christine Poreba, who specializes in many arts, among them, dog poetry. Enjoy!

FurryFriendCropDog Time (in 24 Lines) 

What need do dogs have for time?

The day like a living room rug

where moments of sleep, clean, rise

to the bark of a neighbor dog

pile up like toys.  Add the sound

of you coming home and the pack

is back together again.  Better

squeak that toy; it doesn’t matter

the hour.  Something deep

in their furry chests has been waiting

for this moment,

though words like waiting

and next and I’ll be back soon

mean nothing to creatures

who never know where the car

they’re put in is going, chances

being equal for the doctor,

the woods, a friend’s house,

or on a short vacation to different

ground entirely.  Because there is no

command for I’ll see you soon.

Count the days off on your paw.

There’s only now, with something

missing, then that joy again.

Would you like to be entered to win a free, autographed copy of Counting Backwards? Submit your poem to lauralascarso(at)yahoo(dot)com during National Poetry Month (April) for your chance to win!